


Technicolor Heartbeat

by youaresunlight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Dean, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Brief Fake/Pretend Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where people see in black and white until they touch their destined soulmate, Dean - a popular actor - is adored by many but has yet to find love. He’s a true romantic at heart and waits for the moment he’ll begin to see in color. Too bad the person he’s pining for seems to show zero interest in Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Technicolor Heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission for the lovely [Roo](http://cassammydean.tumblr.com), who requested a soulmate AU.

This is hardly the first time that Cas has come home to find paparazzi outside of his building. They’re not even subtle about it anymore; three are camped just ten feet from the door.

“Excuse me!” one of them hollers, only to flinch at Castiel’s stare. His next words are far less confident. “You, uh… ever see Dean Winchester around here?”

It requires great patience not to roll his eyes.

“No,” Cas answers curtly, his tone enough to discourage any follow-up questions. He brushes past the man - swift and impatient - before nodding at the doorman and sweeping inside.

His mood has been foul for most of the day ever since his breakfast meeting with Dick Roman. There are certain tasks he’d rather avoid, eye-bugging salary and benefits aside, and that includes playing nice with total assholes over coffee and eggs Benedict. Unfortunately for Cas, he isn’t his own boss yet, and his actual superior doesn’t give two shits about how much of a tool Roman really is. “Get him to sign the merger, Castiel,” he said. “The reward will be worth your while. You’re due for a promotion, aren’t you?” The man is almost as bad as Roman.

Needless to say, Cas had been looking forward to retreating to the peace and quiet of his apartment. He had just begun to slowly decompress for the night when the paparazzo called to him five minutes ago.

_Have I seen Dean Winchester_ , Castiel scoffs, tapping his passcode against the keypad. The door unlocks with a series of beeps and he holds it open while glancing across the hall.

Oh, he’s seen Dean Winchester alright. It’s difficult not to when his face is _everywhere_. All the box office successes are merely the starting point, after which come the interviews and endorsements and-

_Anyway_ , Cas shakes his head. The point is all the paparazzi out there, hanging around in handfuls and hordes as though they could ever get past the tight security.

Cas frowns at the apartment.

It’d be a mess - a complete, utter _mess_ \- if they managed to sneak in somehow and caught a glimpse of Dean Winchester’s private life. Cas of all people would know.

Dean is his next-door neighbor.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“I said I’d walk you up,” Benny huffs. “Don’t you know that parking garages are a hotspot for all kinds’a crazies?”

Dean tucks his cell between his cheek and shoulder, laughing as he pushes the button for his floor. “I’m fine,” he assures his friend. “Plus, you need a code to get in the garage.”

“You could at least drive a less conspicuous car.”

“Are you kidding? Baby’s my trademark!”

“Yeah, uh huh, try stalker magnet.”

“Whatever,” Dean shrugs easily, though Benny can’t see him or be persuaded. When the elevator dings, he steps out and adds, “In case you’re curious, I made it to home in one piece.”

“Of course I’m curious, Dean. Why do you think I’m on the phone with you.”

“Well, I won’t say ‘I told you so.’”

“You’re such a little shit.”

Dean smiles wryly. “ _Fine_ , then, walk me up next time.”

He’s too caught up in the conversation to notice the man coming down the hall. After saying goodbye and hanging up the call, Dean finally catches sight of him and stops in his tracks. “Oh,” he shifts on his feet, heat immediately filling his cheeks. “Hey, Cas,” he calls out shyly, gripping his phone in an attempt to ground himself.

Cas, who looks like he was about to pass Dean by without a word, pauses at the greeting and lets their eyes meet, his posture stiff and expression impassive. “Hello,” he rumbles low, his gaze tethering in the soft hallway light.

“Late night?” Dean manages, for lack of something better to say.

“Just taking out the garbage,” Cas replies, and only then does Dean notice how casually he’s dressed. A rumpled shirt and darker lounge pants, both of which hang too attractively on him. It’s all so effortless and unconstrained and Dean guesses that’s part of the charm.

“Right,” he stares at the ground, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I, um- I noticed the paps out there. I hope they didn’t give you a lotta trouble.”

“Besides their usual presence?”

Dean bites his lip. “Yeah, I- Sorry, Cas.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Castiel says, though he sounds like he’d rather have _anyone_ else as his one and only neighbor. “Well, ah, if you’ll excuse me, I still have some work left to finish up…”

“Oh.” It figures that Cas is a big shot, probably on Wall Street in some sumptuous high rise. “Sure, yeah. Um, have a good night.”

Cas nods politely. “Good night, Dean.”

Dean waits until Cas goes inside, trying not to blush like a lovesick teen. He feels pathetic and angry at himself; no wonder Cas wants nothing to do with him. _And why should he_ , Dean thinks sadly. Cas is so handsome, and sophisticated. He likely has an equally amazing girlfriend, who has a fancy job and can cook authentic Szechuan. _Not_ that Dean’s thought about this… He _hasn’t_. God, it’s just-

Dean never _meant_ to fall for Cas, but now it’s too late and he’s completely lost.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

**Six Months Ago**

Dean leans against the island countertop as he watches Sam zip up his backpack. “I could drive you to the airport,” he offers quietly, wanting any excuse to spend more time with his brother. He’s being kind of needy, he knows, but he hardly ever sees his brother anymore. Third year of law school and he swears to God that Sam is even busier than he is; the only reason Sam flew to New York was a final interview at a prestigious firm. “Not the _only_ reason,” Sam assured him, but Dean didn’t mind. He’s so damn proud.

“I’m fine,” Sam tells him now. “Isn’t Jo coming to get you in a couple of hours?”

Dean groans dramatically and slumps over the marble. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admits begrudgingly.

Sam laughs and reaches over to pat Dean’s shoulder in faux sympathy. “Cheer up, I’ll go get us coffee.”

“And waffles!”

“Put on some pants, Dean.”

“What d’you call these then?” Dean gestures at himself, following Sam through the foyer to the door.

“Boxers?” Sam raises an eyebrow, all tall and judgmental in his neatly pressed clothes. He isn’t a lawyer yet but still dresses like one, and Dean ought to send him a dozen plaid flannels just to mess with him. Eileen likes plaid.

“Shut up,” he shoos Sam out the door and steps into the hallway. “I need my caffeine.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Sam shoots back then glances to his left. “Hey, is someone moving in?”

Sure enough, there’s a stack of boxes outside the only other apartment on the floor. It’d been empty for a month or so but is currently filled with a flurry of activity as a small crew carries furniture inside. Dean cranes his neck to point his gaze past them but regrets it immediately when a new guy emerges. In fact, shrill alarms go off in Dean’s head because it’s rude to stare but he just can’t help it. The man, all mussed dark hair, in a Wharton tee and worn-out jeans, instructs a worker on where to put his desk then grabs the box that’s nearest to him. From the way his muscles flex, the weight isn’t light, and his shirt rolls up between the cardboard and his stomach. It’s difficult to miss how his hips are cut by a sharp line of bone just above his waistband.

Dean loses track of the seconds ticking by, and then the guy is speaking, a crease between his brows.

“Can I help you?” the words finally register and Dean flushes hard. God, he’s so transparent.

“Uh, hi.” _Shit_. “I’m, um, Dean. You must be moving in.” _Yeah_ , _nice work_ , _Sherlock_.

“Yes,” the man replies. God, his eyes are piercing despite the lack of color. “My name is Castiel, though I prefer to go by Cas. I’d shake your hand, but…” He drops his eyes to the box in his arms. When they lift back up, Dean’s mouth goes dry, and it’s been a long time since someone has affected him like this. He’s an actor, for crying out loud; he meets beautiful people every day. But they don’t normally _obliterate_ his ability to talk, or make his heart beat so rapidly in his chest.

“Hey, I’m gonna head down,” Sam murmurs amusedly, touching Dean’s arm to catch his attention.

“Huh?” Dean blinks at his brother, having momentarily forgotten what they’re doing out here. But Sam simply grins and slips into the elevator - while it dawns on Dean that he’s still in his boxers.

Great.

Cas must pick up on Dean’s embarrassment, based on the charming little quirk of his mouth. He hasn’t set his box down for the sake of conversation, yet his stance appears comfortable. Relaxed, even.

“I’m not… usually dressed like this at eleven in the morning,” Dean says weakly. He remembers the rip in the hem of his shirt and the Batman logos all over his shorts. Why couldn’t he have at least worn his nicer pair? One that doesn’t expose him as the nerd he really is? He’s starting to fidget under Cas’ watch and getting all tongue-tied and, fuck, what should he say-

“You’re fine,” Cas moves toward his door, before peering at Dean with a single arched brow. He adds, “I am sure your date appreciated it” and disappears past two workers into his sunlit apartment.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

**Present Day**

“I mean, it’s ridiculous!” Gabriel exclaims, flipping through the magazine and shaking his head. “If she gains _five pounds_ , they call her fat. Then when she loses weight, she’s suddenly anorexic. Honestly, what a load of bull-”

“Gabe, calm down,” Cas sighs at his brother and the copy of _Us Weekly_ in his hands. “It’s sensationalized tabloids. Try reading real news.”

“What’s more _real_ than ‘who wore it better’?”

“The economy?” Cas hedges. “Legislation?”

“Bo _ring_ ,” Gabe brushes him off, before turning on the couch with a glint in his eye. “Say, how’s that sexy A-list neighbor of yours? I was hoping for a spotting on my way in today.”

Cas finishes pouring a glass of chardonnay and brings it to his brother in hopes it’ll distract him. But a prying Gabe is like a dog with a bone, and he stares up expectantly as he takes his first sip.

“I see him when I see him,” Cas says impatiently. “It’s not like I actively seek him out.”

“Why not, you dummy, he’s _super_ pretty… which, last time I checked, is totally your type.”

“That’s not true.” Against his better judgment, Cas also takes a seat and rests his feet on the ottoman. “I only know what Dean Winchester looks like, and physical features alone don’t constitute my type.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Gabe’s lips as he absentmindedly taps a finger on his glass. “Well, that’s the only part you’ve bothered to know. He might be different from his on-screen persona.”

Cas pretends to consider this, mind sifting through the faces he’s seen come and go. “I doubt it,” he says after a beat, his tone terse with finality. “I’m looking for someone who can commit. Even if the interest were mutual at first, a person like Dean would move on in a heartbeat.”

“That’s what you _think_. You’re making assumptions.”

“I can’t imagine a relationship with a guy whose face is splashed across _People_ every week.”

“So, you _have_ noticed him splashed across _People_ every week.”

“Impossible not to,” Cas lifts his drink. “I live on planet Earth.”

Gabriel sighs.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The next morning, Cas walks out the door and is instantly met with Dean’s soft smile. Only it’s private and directed specifically at the broad and bearded guy outside of Dean’s apartment.

“Tell me how it goes.” Castiel can’t see him but the accent is distinct, a thick Southern drawl. “You’ll do great. Don’t sweat it, cher.”

Dean crinkles his nose, both cheeks a little flushed. Cas tries valiantly not to find it adorable, but sadly for him, he’s a man with perfect vision.

“Thanks,” Dean leans on the doorframe. “I’m not keeping my hopes up; it’s such a big deal… Hundreds of actors must be fighting for this part.”

“Sure, but where’s the fun in beatin’ twenty when you can beat two hundred?” comes the reply, at which Dean laughs and ducks his head, his bare toes scuffing the floor.

Cas abruptly wonders how Dean would dress if it weren’t for the cameras and teams of stylists, though perhaps right now is a fair representation: a Metallica tee and low-slung jeans. It looks like something one might put on by grabbing the first items out of his dresser. Like Dean was in a hurry to put on his clothes so he could walk the guy out and see him off. The image crosses Cas’ mind without warning. It’s completely unwarranted… and _angering_. Which is the last emotion that Cas would expect and it simply confounds him, right out of left field.

He doesn’t have the time to process it, of course, especially not when the man in front of Dean leans in. There’s no need to watch - what happens is obvious and Cas already feels somewhat like a creep.

He’s done wasting minutes on Dean.

He heads for the lift, grip tight on his briefcase.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

All the numbers seem to blur together, lit up and dancing around his fingertip. Dean tries to focus, and pushes them again. 1-2-0-5-1-9-5-4. He’s pretty certain he got it right this time, except there’s no click - just a flat, stern beep. Exhausted, he slumps against the door, cursing the pretentious building and all its technology. A simple lock and key would’ve served him just fine. He could be lying in his bed by now.

“Damn it,” he raises his arm, striking the door with the side of his fist. He repeats the motion again and again, as if that’ll get him through the fiberboard and pine. The scotch-induced haze that’s clouding his brain says banging on the door is the smartest option. Dean has no energy to argue otherwise and tries a few more times to no avail.

He doesn’t know how long he stands here, resting his weight on the door and its frame. It startles him, then, when he lurches forward into a much dimmer, warmer space - and even more so when he tilts his face and meets Cas’ eyes, smells his aftershave.

“Dean?” Cas frowns, taking in the sight of him. He runs a hand through his messy hair. “Do you realize what time it is?”

“Hey, Cas…” Dean smiles flirtatiously, before trailing off and cocking his head. “What’re you… doin’ in my apartment?”

Castiel’s response is an irritated noise.

“This is my apartment, Dean,” he explains. “You were banging on my door just now.”

“I…” Dean sways as he looks behind him, across the hall at the other door. “30B,” he murmurs softly. That’s _his_ address. So, this must be- “Oh.”

“I have an important meeting in less than five hours. Do you have any consideration at all?”

Dean winces, instantly feeling a lot more awake and abashed.

“I’m sorry.”

“ _Are_ you, Dean?”

Dean feels his body curling on itself. “I- I’ve just had… I messed up- I mean, I’m kind of messed up and I’m just by myself and I didn’t-”

“Didn’t know? You should’ve brought someone home with you then.”

“Cas-” Dean’s throat closes up, and he stares at the floor like a chastised kid. As if by instinct, he squares his shoulders, bracing himself for more harsh words. Not that Cas’ comments aren’t true, because Dean is aware of people’s perception of him. Why should Cas believe differently from anyone else who simply assumes that Dean sleeps around? That he’s nothing more than a pretty face? That he’s only made it this far because… _because_ …

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out in one harsh breath, and Dean’s not sure if what shatters is his expression or if it’s his heart; it hurts either way.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I-”

“Dean,” interrupts Castiel, except his tone is gentler this time around, and he sounds shocked as though he was caught off guard. His breath hitches as he opens the door further. “Dean, are you…” he steps out into the hall. “What happened?”

Dean struggles to catch up with the change in demeanor, and he’s also confused as to why Cas is blurry. After blinking a couple of times and sensing the moisture dampening his cheeks, he is utterly mortified to realize that he’s begun to cry. Messily.

“Oh, god,” Dean covers his face. He can feel Cas’ eyes still focused on him. “I’m gonna go. I didn’t mean to wake you up, Cas, I just…”

“Come in for a bit,” Cas says, before moving aside. “I’ll get you some tea.”

They regard each other for a moment - Dean too surprised to move at all - until Cas huffs and gestures him inside. “It’s alright, Dean. I don’t bite.”

Cas’ apartment, architecturally, looks exactly the same as Dean’s, but the furniture is sleek and dark and modern whereas Dean’s are all light cedar and intricate. He claims a spot on the living room couch, all geometrical lines and tufted cushions. It only takes a second for him to sink against them; they’re more comfortable than they appear and he’s more tired than he thought.

He looks around the room while Cas is in the kitchen - the sounds of the kettle and clinking cups fairly distant given the size of the place - and while most of the apartment seems like it could’ve come straight from a catalog, the frames that line the fireplace mantle add a homier touch to what’s otherwise stark.

Letting his head rest against the couch, along with the tranquil comfort of the place, help Dean to sober up by the time Cas returns and offers Dean a steaming mug of green tea.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles shyly. His tongue and eyelids feel heavy with fatigue.

“You’re welcome,” Cas replies as he sits on the other side of the coffee table. The air between them is no longer tense, though Dean is conscious of his slackened posture and the heat in his cheeks from their proximity. “Do you have a big family, Cas?” he finds himself asking, out of the blue. Cas reacts by tilting his head and Dean sort of wants to kiss the bolt of his jaw.

“It’s me and two older brothers,” Castiel says. “We lost our parents when we were quite young.”

Dean bites his lip apologetically. “That must’ve been so hard. I… didn’t mean to pry.”

“You didn’t,” Cas replies. There’s a hint of a smile tucked into his mouth. “We took care of one another,” he continues. “I rarely felt like I was bereft of anything.”

Dean is frankly surprised at Cas’ forthrightness, as this is the first real conversation they’ve had. It’s the most unguarded that Dean has ever seen Cas, like he’s being shown a tiny window into Castiel’s life. He feels a sudden urge to tell him about Sam, about how they lost their dad when they were just kids. Dean wants to share stories of how wonderful their mom is: the aroma of her pies and her beautiful smile.

Before he can properly arrange his words, though, Cas says, “You seem better. How are you feeling?”

Heat rushes up the back of Dean’s neck. “Um, definitely better…” He raises his cup. “Thanks for this.”

“Would you like to… talk about it?”

Dean chuckles. “Why do I get the feeling that that isn’t something you ask a lot?”

“You’re right, it isn’t,” Cas agrees, shifting in his seat. “You were very upset.” The intensity with which he looks at Dean gives Dean the false hope that he truly cares. But Dean knows better than to overanalyze and sets down his tea on an issue of _The Economist_.

“It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before… I don’t know, I probably overreacted.” Dean brings both knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his shins. Across from him, Cas is waiting and silent, which prompts Dean to elaborate on his totally shit day. “There’s this film, still pre-production… They haven’t even cast the male lead yet. There’s all this buzz surrounding it already and I thought- Well, if everyone else is clamoring for the part then why not me? I mean, I’m supposedly bankable now.” The laugh that escapes him is hollow and self-deprecating, but Dean pauses for a mere few seconds before barreling on like a dam has burst.

“I told my agent that I want to audition, and he brought by the script a few days ago… He even got me a meeting with one of the execs and I met the guy for lunch today. Cas, d’you know what he said?”

Cas keeps his gaze steady as he shakes his head.

Dean drops his chin on top of his knees, his laughter muffled by the sleeves of his shirt. “He didn’t talk about the film at all. Ignored all my attempts to change the subject. He kept going on about how this other project will be _perfect_ for me. Some summer flick that’ll ‘launch me further into stardom.’ That’s the phrase he kept using, by the way. _Launch_ me to stardom. It went on for an hour.”

Dean can feel his voice start to tighten again and, shit, he better not cry. He doesn’t cry anymore unless it’s in a damn script and he’s definitely filled the quota of embarrassing himself in front of Cas.

“Stupid restaurant didn’t even have a bar… But my assistant Jo- Her mom owns the Roadhouse. Have you been there? If not, you should. It’s the only place I can hide anymore. Well, besides my apartment, obviously, and I guess… I guess yours too.”

Cas smiles, small and indulgent. Dean thinks he would look incredible with a full-on smile, all teeth and gums. “Do you want more tea? It’d only take a minute,” he waves at the mug, now cool and cold.

“Sure,” Dean nods, hiding his yawn until Cas has gone back to the spacious kitchen. He leans against the armrest and slowly blinks, staring at the spot where Cas had just sat.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Dean is asleep when Cas comes back, one arm folded below his cheek and his mouth slightly parted, full and lush. Cas leaves the tea on the table regardless and fetches a blanket from the closet down the hall. Dean sighs contentedly at the added warmth and snuggles on the cushion till he’s comfortable.

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, observing the peace in the man’s expression. He’s never noticed the freckles before, the way they dance across the bridge of Dean’s nose. He makes an abortive gesture to trace them with his finger and catches himself at the very last second.

What is he _doing_? This is Dean Winchester. Tonight was an exception because Dean was clearly upset. It’s not a sign he should all of a sudden get to know Dean better or spend time with him. Castiel scolds himself for the moment of weakness and straightens back up to head to bed.

He doesn’t pull the blanket higher up on Dean’s chest, or push his fingers through the soft tufts of hair. He doesn’t admit the reason he holds back is that he’ll inevitably fall too deeply otherwise.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

There’s little that Dean is more thankful for than the free morning he has the next day. He had jerked awake at six in the morning to the muted noise of a running shower. He’d then scribbled a note on a square of paper towel and booked it out the door, pulse ringing in his ears.

_Jesus_. He closes his eyes, sliding down his door into a heap on the floor. Cas must hate him, he thinks morosely. If he hadn’t before, then he certainly does now. His memories are fuzzy and jointed at best but he remembers for sure that he made a fool of himself.

_Thank you for your help and I’m really sorry_. _I hope your meeting goes well_ , he’d written in the note. He could’ve apologized a thousand times had he thought it’d help.

He’s not certain it would.

He eventually moves to charge his phone and finds twelve texts and five missed calls from Jo. He calls back and listens to ten minutes of concerned nagging that begins with “You’re letting me walk you up next time- No, wait, there’s not gonna be a next time” and ends with “You spent the night with who?!”

“Whom,” Dean mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “And I didn’t spend the night _with_ anyone, Jo. I was just at his apartment.”

“ _Okay_.” Jo doesn’t sound convinced. “ _His_ apartment, as in the apartment that belongs to the guy you’ve had a crush on for the past six months?”

“He doesn’t know that I have a crush on him.”

“Honey, the freaking _air molecules_ in your building know that you’ve got the hots for him.”

“Ugh,” Dean sort of wants to hang up. He would if he didn’t think Jo would murder his face off. “Yeah, maybe, but I was completely trashed. _Not_ the ideal way to win over a man.”

“Did you vomit on his floor?”

“What? No!” Dean says, disgusted.

“Well, then, what’s there to worry about? You’re kinda endearing when you’re drunk, babe.”

Dean huffs exasperatedly. “Good talk, Jo. I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Okay, I’ll text you. _Respond_ in a timely fashion, please, and cover up those love bites!”

“I don’t _have_ -”

Jo hangs up first.

Dean stares glumly at his cell before tossing it onto his bed. He wants so badly to follow suit and flop down alongside it, but he’s also feeling pretty grimy from his hangover and a scalding shower sounds kind of amazing. Maybe the heat will knock some sense into him, and help him focus on something other than Cas’ voice, which became tender as soon as he saw Dean hurting, and his gorgeous hands that invited Dean into his apartment and made him tea and…

And those eyes, kind and patient, that made Dean fall in love with him all over again.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Cas tries hard all morning to _not_ think about Dean, and in the process positively kills at the meeting and receives a pleased nod from his boss. He’s then kept busy till lunch - a conference call with Paris followed by approving a set of contracts - which is why he’s surprised to find himself at his apartment building instead of taking a leisurely break at work.

Yet here he is in front of Dean’s door, a CVS bag in his hand and shifting his weight from left to right.

Dean’s eyes are wide when he answers the door, thick lashes framing an undoubtedly attractive color that Cas wishes he could see. “Cas?” he sounds unsure of that, rightfully so since Cas has never once stepped inside Dean’s apartment. Not that Dean had been to Cas’ either before their impromptu visit early this morning.

“Hello,” Cas gives a small nod, putting out the bag for Dean to take. “I just wanted to bring this by, in case you didn’t have anything at your place.”

Visibly flustered, Dean accepts, peeking inside and releasing a breath. “Aspirin?” he peers back up. “I- Thank you, Cas. That’s really thoughtful.”

“It’s nothing,” Cas replies.

Dean worries his lip till it’s noticeably darkened. “Do you have time to come in? I don’t have tea but I can make some coffee? Actually, uh, have you had lunch already? I have- I think I have something in the fridge… I haven’t really had the chance to go grocery shopping, but-”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas can’t help but smile a little bigger. “Coffee is fine. I can wait to eat.”

“You sure?” Dean frowns in thought. “If I had all the stuff, I would’ve made us some pasta. Pesto and chicken, it’s pretty good. It’s my mom’s recipe, actually…”

“Are your parents nearby?” Castiel asks, watching Dean fuss with the coffee machine.

“No, she’s in Lawrence. Um, Lawrence, Kansas, and it’s been just my mom for over twenty years now. I’ve got a brother in Boston though. He and his wife have a baby on the way.”

“Congratulations,” Cas says sincerely, “and I’m sorry about your father.”

“It’s okay.”

“What does your brother do in Boston?” Cas asks, mostly to change the topic. It was evidently a wise decision, judging by the way Dean’s face lights up.

“He’s a lawyer. Stanford grad. Just got his J.D. a few months ago.” Dean’s expression, brimming with pride, is one that Cas is familiar with. He remembers it well on Gabe and Michael when he graduated _summa cum laude_ from Penn.

“You must be glad to have him back in your time zone.”

Dean laughs. It sounds like sunshine. “Yeah, definitely. I missed him too much. You know, you might have met him already. That morning you were moving in? Sam was in New York for an interview. Tall, like _Sasquatch_ tall, with longish hair. He’s hard to miss.”

The morning he was moving in.

Cas remembers the tee, the Batman boxers. The tall man who grinned so easily at Dean. The one that Cas thought had been leaving Dean’s place because- “Yes, I recall.” He couldn’t have been more wrong.

“I wanted to convince him to move here after graduating, but… I think he and Eileen fell in love with Boston, and I can drive to them now if I want, which is so much better than flying out to California.” Dean pours the freshly brewed coffee into two mismatched mugs - one with Aquarius dotting the side and another with a giant cartoon mustache.

“Thank you,” Cas says for his drink and curls his fingers around it. “You must be very proud.”

Dean scoops three spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee then looks up with a smile. “I kinda am, yeah.”

“Were you two close growing up?”

“Mmhmm, us and our mom. It’d been just the three of us for so long, you know? He even talked about turning down Stanford so he could stay a lot closer to home, but we couldn’t let him. He’s just _so smart_ and it would’ve been unfair to hold him back like that. I actually…” Dean blushes faintly. “I actually got into acting to help Sammy through school. He refused to let our mom dip into what she’d already saved up, so I decided to earn some extra money and he ran out of excuses not to go to his dream school.”

Dean demurs more and more as he tells the story, giving Cas the impression that it’s not often shared. It stuns him a bit to hear, especially since it goes against all his previous assumptions. He’s ashamed of his former behavior, for pigeonholing Dean into a stereotype. When he finds his words again, he speaks the first that come to mind. “That’s incredibly admirable, Dean.” And he means them. Dean has no idea how much.

“Sorry for bombarding you with all that.” It doesn’t elude Cas that Dean ignores the compliment, but he chooses not to comment on the fact and instead replies, “Don’t feel the need to apologize so much.”

Dean releases a sheepish laugh. “I know, I know. I’m awful, huh?” A beat passes by, their eyes locked on each other, until Cas clears his throat and looks away first while Dean drops his gaze, grasping his mug.

“I should probably head out,” Cas peeks at his watch. “Thank you for the coffee. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Um, yeah,” Dean takes his cup, turning around to place it in the sink. “This was… nice. Thanks for the aspirin. I’m gonna need it for the interview tonight.”

“Good,” Cas smoothes down his jacket and tugs on his tie to fix where it’s loosened. 

“Here,” Dean walks into his space, reaching up to tweak the knot between the collars. They’re standing close - close enough so that Cas could bring his hands to Dean’s waist with the slightest shift. But that’d be untoward, not to mention inappropriate, and Cas settles for clenching his fists at his sides.

“Are you sure you’ll have time to eat?”

Cas smiles. “Yes, I’ll manage.”

“Alright. I’ll see you later?”

_I hope so_ , Cas thinks as he leaves, but not before turning around by the door. “For what it’s worth…” he hesitates. “I think you should fight for that role if you want it. Who cares what some asshole says.”

Dean’s reaction appears to be caught between incredulity and bewilderment. “Thanks, Cas…” he breaks into a smile, and Cas mirrors it despite himself.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“I heard that you’re dating a real estate magnate. When did that happen?” Sam teases over the phone.

“What?” Dean snorts. “Who are your sources? I thought I was getting serious with an oil tycoon.”

“ _The Post_? _Daily Mail_? _TMZ_?”

“Oh, so reliable journalism.”

“I only follow the best,” Sam indulges him, then in a serious tone, “ _Are_ you seeing anyone?”

“No,” Dean fiddles with his iPad. Why did he buy the stupid thing; all he ever does is play Candy Crush. “You’d be the first to know if I were. You know that, Sam. Well, aside from Jo.”

“I know,” Sam admits with a sigh. “I just worry about you. So does Eileen.”

“Hey, not everyone can find their soulmate on some magical day in the park. That won’t be me and I’ve come to terms with it. I’m just excited to spoil your kid.”

Sam laughs, sounding far more lighthearted. “Eileen worries about that too.”

“No, man, her only worry should be what she wants to eat at two in the morning. Buy her everything she wants, alright? Even if it’s gross. Your argument’s invalid.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“I have to say, I didn’t expect to enjoy your company this much.” Roman gestures for the bartender to fill up his glass. “It’s been a pleasant surprise, Novak.”

Cas doesn’t bother with a verbal reply - just gives a slight nod out of baseline decorum. He got Roman’s signature on the merger this afternoon, and in less than an hour, the dinner will end and he won’t have to deal with this asshole again.

“You know, you ought to come work for Roman Enterprises. We could use someone like you and I can make the transition worth your while.”

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to decode what Roman is suggesting. Sure, Cas isn’t a fan of his current boss but he’d rather quit than be a mole. “No, thank you,” he tells Dick curtly, reaching for his bourbon for a much-needed taste.

“Suit yourself,” Roman smiles at him. “I’ll leave the offer open. I _do_ own the company, after all.”

_As if you let anyone forget it_ , Cas thinks, an uncomfortable silence falling between them. Cas focuses his attention on the mahogany bar, polished so well that he can see his reflection. He taps on the wood in increments of sixty, keeping track of the minutes painfully ticking by, until Roman puts his hand on his shoulder and says, “Excuse me, I have someone to meet.”

Cas wrinkles his brow in confusion, but Roman is already gone, meandering his way toward one of the tables like a predator that has spotted his prey. Cas squints at the surrounding patrons, trying to guess whom Roman is after. His eyes wander from face to face until he freezes, breath catching in his throat.

_Dean_.

Dean and his assistant - Jo, he’s fairly sure - pause their conversation at Roman’s approach. At first, Cas thinks that he’s there for Jo, who’s rather quite striking with her delicate eyes. Except Roman shakes her hand and swiftly turns to Dean, slowly leaning down to compensate for the noise around them.

Whatever it is that Roman says - Cas can’t imagine it’s subtle in the least - makes Dean stiffen and blink in alarm while Jo grasps the napkin spread out in her lap. And before he knows it, Cas is walking, brisk and single-minded toward Dean’s crowded table. When their eyes meet, Dean seems to relax, although Cas lacks the luxury of dwelling on it too long.

“Roman,” he catches Dick’s arm, the only time he’s made voluntary contact with the man. “How do you know Dean?” he feigns curiosity, noting the irritation that crosses Roman’s features.

“I don’t,” Roman says a bit coldly. “May I ask how the two of you are acquainted, Novak?”

“Well, I-”

“I knew your name rang a bell!” someone says, but the voice belongs to Jo, who suddenly perks up. “It’s obvious who you _are_ , of course. I mean, Roman Enterprises. Everyone’s _heard_ of you.” Oh, she’s good. She knows just how to talk to him. “But Dean mentioned you the other day, about how you’re working with his boyfriend on something?”

Roman’s expression screws up minutely, though he’s practiced enough to school his emotions in public. Cas feels as if his mind has blanked into nothingness, staring at Jo then over at Dean, mouth opening and closing in silence.

“Yeah, I did,” Dean murmurs eventually, deftly slipping into his character. He nearly gives Cas whiplash with the brilliant smile he flashes at Roman seconds afterward. “You had me worried, Mr. Roman. You were taking up an awful lot of my boyfriend’s time. I know you’re both important people and all but I’m sure you can understand my… frustration.” Dean rests his elbow on the table, chin in hand, then peers up at Roman with a coyness that makes Cas flush.

“I apologize, Mr. Winchester,” Roman smiles, clearly plastered on to hide his humiliation at not getting what he wants for once. “You’ll be pleased to know that my business with Castiel concluded a few hours ago at his office. I’m sure he’ll still be busy but meetings with me have ceased for now.”

“Is that right?” Dean straightens up, then adds affectionately to Cas, “Congratulations.”

Though it isn’t immediately apparent, there’s a hint of apologetic pleading in his eyes. Asking Cas to go along with this, to please save him from unwanted advances. And it isn’t Roman who convinces Cas to do it. It wouldn’t have mattered who the guy was at all. Because the entire focus of his world right now is Dean, and Cas has finally stopped warring with himself.

“Thank you, Dean,” he smiles all soft, bending forward to press a kiss to Dean’s cheek. His eyes fall shut at the touch on his wrist, at Dean’s tapered fingers curling around it. “I’m sorry for making you wait,” he kisses Dean’s temple just because he can.

“Cas,” Dean whispers back, his tone almost reverent and wondrous.

Then when Castiel opens his eyes, he understands the reason for that sudden wonder.

Because there’s Dean, beaming at him, and there are his eyes - a gorgeous olive green.

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The drive from the restaurant to their apartment building is one excited, overwhelming blur. Had it not been for Jo who quickly shooed them out, they would’ve stood there like idiots, fingers entwined.

Even now, as they step off the lift, Cas seems to be unable to let go of his hand, and Dean is happy to let him have it - to give Castiel all of him if that’s what he wanted.

He also can’t help just _staring_ at Cas, the full spectrum of colors beautiful and staggering. His dark hair Dean wants to run his hands through, and those lips that kissed him at the restaurant. His eyes, so deep and breathtaking, that crinkle with fondness when he smiles at Dean. And, oh, Cas’ smile is a marvel in and of itself, something Dean had hoped to witness but could never have prepared himself for. The way his mouth curves slowly upward, how the expression builds like effervescent sunrise. The thought that he’ll be seeing the smile again has Dean breathless, clasping their hands a little more tightly.

He also swears his heart skips a beat when Cas gently crowds him against the nearest wall. 

“Let’s go on a date,” Cas lifts their joined hands, brushing his lips across each of Dean’s knuckles. “My place or yours?” he smiles crookedly, which makes Dean laugh and tug him close.

“Either would be great,” he murmurs happily, “but maybe you could kiss me first.”

Cas chuckles against his skin. “Right here?” he kisses Dean’s finger.

Dean rolls his eyes though he blushes furiously. “No. Try a little higher.”

“Higher?” Castiel hums, lifting his face to kiss Dean’s cheek once more. “How’s that,” he stays still as he asks, mouth tickling the patch of skin now gone warm and pink.

“You’re terrible,” Dean accuses weakly. His unoccupied hand moves to curl in Cas’ shirt.

Cas pulls back with a tiny smirk, just far enough for their eyes to properly meet. He cups the side of Dean’s face he just kissed, leaning in until their lips are barely touching. “I figured it out,” he says, hushed and sweet, and then they’re _kissing_ and, for the love of God, Dean hopes that this will be the first of many.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot,” Cas mutters between each frantic press of their mouths. “I hope you can forgive me,” he sounds so earnest and Dean lets go of his hand to wrap both arms around his neck.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he teases shyly.

Cas fits his palms on either side of Dean’s waist, says, “I’m very lucky” and kisses him again.

 

◇ ◇ ◇  


 

“Dean, are you sure?” Castiel asks, a few days later once they’ve gone to bed. They’ve been kissing, all loving and lazy, Cas’ hands caressing Dean’s skin, until Dean pulled Cas’ shirt off and tossed it to the floor, then told him what he needed in a small, nervous whisper.

“You don’t think we’re moving too fast?” Cas places a kiss on Dean’s collarbone. “I can wait,” he offers the out; the last thing he wants is for Dean to feel pressured.

“No,” Dean takes a deep breath, tangling his fingers in Cas’ messy hair. “I’ve sorta been crazy about you since we met.”

Cas tilts his head. “That long, huh?” He’s sure that Dean can feel his rapid heartbeat.

“Don’t get cocky,” Dean warns playfully, but his eyes are soft. “Yeah, that long.”

Castiel kisses him, long and passionate. “I’m crazy about you too.”

“Glad it’s mutual,” Dean quirks his lips, and Castiel laughs. God, is it ever.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

**One Year Later**

“You’re right at the center of the Oscar buzz this season. How does it feel? Has it sunk in yet?”

Dean gives the reporter a dazzling smile and leans in to speak over the din. “Definitely not, and it’s an honor. It’s already been incredible to take part in this project.”

“Some are calling it the role of a lifetime.”

Dean laughs softly. “Maybe so.”

“And may I ask who your date is this evening? Everyone’s been wondering who you’d bring to the big premiere.”

Dean looks behind him, a few feet away, where Cas is waiting, unfairly gorgeous in his tux. The adoring smile is just for Dean, still filling him with butterflies like the very first time. He gestures at Cas to come to him, takes his hand as soon as he’s within reach.

“This is my fiancé Cas,” he peers at Cas instead of into the camera. “We just got engaged last night.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Rebloggable link here](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/147850332800/deancas-technicolor-heartbeat)
> 
> [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](http://twitter.com/leeshwrites)


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